


.murlkins

by valvet



Category: The Venture Bros
Genre: Domestic, Emotional Constipation, Lovecraftian Monster(s), M/M, Self-Indulgent, beholding esq powers, please take these men to therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:07:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24128659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valvet/pseuds/valvet
Summary: local eldritch horror forces evil boyfriend to talk about problems and also yell at him about being extra the drabble
Relationships: phantom limb/original character
Kudos: 1





	.murlkins

**Author's Note:**

> you ever just project all of your emotional problems onto a character, cause that's what i did, probably a bit ooc but I'm living my best life so whatever.

Mort Parsons knew he had issues, at this point they were blatantly in his face about how many he had, but one thing was for certain that he knew to himself, was that he wasn't going to get better. No matter how many therapists The Guild forced him to go to, none of them “made him better” or helped really, they'd look at him with a sad face and try to make him open up, be honest. 

Instead, they'd end up in agony by the end of the session due to prying and Zatok deciding to do what it does best and absolutely melt the brains of anybody who is deemed “bad” to Mort. How peachy.

In all honesty, he was contempt with the situation of not ever getting better, at least he couldn’t get worse which was a plus, and yes he’d permanently have issues, but don’t most people? Sure, his issues were selective and specific, and hardly anybody he had talked to in the past understood what he meant by feeling like an imposter his whole life, but that comes with being broken he supposed. 

Now here he was, half-naked in a bed that for sure wasn’t his (nothing really was anymore), and the light from the connecting bathroom coming into the darkened room; his tendrils cringing at the light and wrapping themselves in each other for comfort; while Hamilton took his sweet time getting ready for bed. 

“Yknow--if your gonna take this long you should’ve started like, an hour ago at this point” Mort commentated, even from how far away he was to the bathroom, he could still hear Hamilton sigh with probable annoyance. 

“Oh please, you’re being overdramatic, compared to your shower routine I don’t take that long now do I?” Mort laughed, quick-witted bastard. He rolled onto his shoulders and finally took the time to look at the bathroom, however, the door was half-closed, so him being able to sneak a peak of whatever the hell was going on in there was a failure.

“It’s not that long--I don’t keep count on how long I take in the shower! But you take like an hour to an hour and a half? Each night? Absolute madness!” Mort crossed his arms with a shit-eating grin, which even through the door he knew Hamilton could just feel. Of course, that was quickly broken, like always. 

“If I’m doing my math right, it takes you about three hours to four to take a shower each week, who's the maddening one here?” he snarked, Mort scoffed; the worst part about being called out was having to deal with the fact that whoever’s doing it is right in some regard.

“I suppose that would be my time to come in, now wouldn’t it be?” 

“Damn right it is, I’m about to conk out if you keep staying in there,” It was odd really, and Mort knew that; he knew two sides of Hamilton and it was such an uncomfortable feeling to him; on one hand he could be jokey and be “relaxed” (ie tense but not as much as he usually was), or Phantom Limb, who was a humorless asshole who happened to have a Ph.D. Albeit he knew he really didn’t know the true Hamilton underneath, having a minor in psych was useful for once; the way he talked even in private seemed rehearsed, his body never calm; the quick hugs they’d have felt stiff, genuine sure, but tense. 

But, once he heard the door open, those feelings half stopped. Usually, Hamilton was covered head to toe when it came to be “decent”, oh--but this was a treat it seemed! Even if the bathrobe was long, it still was better than the constant amount of layering he put himself in; Mort wanted ever so badly to put his face in Hamilton’s now fuzzy chest. Even with the fact, his limbs were invisible, his body was slacked against the bathroom door frame.

“I presume you enjoy this?” Hamilton’s voice brought him to his hypothetical knees, Mort nodded, and by god his laugh; albeit a fake one, hit him right in between the ribs. His face lit up with a soon to come ego trip and alas he finally came to bed. 

“Y'know uh..you really look nice when you're not being overly modest” Mort mumbled, attempting to roll himself closer; hamilton rolled his eyes and fell back into the bed, right next to Mort’s face, all five of his eyes widened and his pupils finally returned. 

“Ah, I know that, but I’m still not wearing short sleeve shirts” he commented, Mort lowered his eyelids, but still grew closer. 

“You’d look nice in them! I mean, I’ll stop wearing my sunglasses if you at least try them” of course that idea of having the world look at his eyes that brought horror to so many weak souls was definitely one he immediately regretted saying, compromise is important. Hamilton clicked his tongue and turned himself over, and to Mort’s own shock, his face seemed genuine, albeit his muscles were still tense, his face for sure wasn’t. 

“Mmhm, I know you won’t live up to that though” he shut his eyes, and Mort could feel a hand on his shoulder, bringing him closer and finally, into his chest. 

“I would though, I mean..” Mort looked about for a minute, he’d never really got, intimately close with hamilton, mostly because of A. That involved a lot more effort than most things and B. repression. But perhaps for a moment, screw those thoughts, he really had nothing left to lose

“I know this is probably bad to bring up but..why don't you like them? **Tell me** ” was it morally wrong to use Yog-Sothoth to gain information that he knew he’d never get out? Of course, it was, but he’d done worse, eating a man is worse than psychological eldritch manipulation. Hamilton’s eyes widened and he sighed

“I'm self-conscious, what do you think hm? I choose not to wear actual clothes because I'm a modest man, for god sakes I do want to! It’s..” he rolled his eyes and Mort stopped it, which earned him a rightful pinch on the shoulder. 

“I would've told the truth, no need to be an ass about it” he commented, bullshit.

“I doubt that but..” Mort attempted his best to wrap his arms around Hamilton's waist, “its what?” 

“Your not my guild mandated therapist, Parsons”

Silence, albeit never to Mort as his thoughts grew clouded with Yog-Sothoth knowledge of all. It's ever seeing eye viewing him from the inside out, begging to be free.

“I don't want to hurt people I care about” Hamilton muttered, ”yes, I love hurting people but..not you, I’d hate to imagine a scenario where you got hurt from me being careless, is that good enough for you?” Mort nodded, “good, we aren’t speaking about this again”

His brain clawed at his skull, the warm feeling in his stomach turned into a crescendo of emotions, feeling every word like it was his own coming from his mouth; a small price to pay for the knowledge of another’s feelings. He didn’t sleep that night, instead, he let the darkness enwrap him and try to quiet the things he’d learn, oh how did he despise the fact he was cared about, properly loved even! Enough that such a despicable man would tread carefully with him, even if some of it came from other places that Mort defiantly didn’t know about, and nor did he want to anymore.

He wanted to be hurt, he didn’t need to be treated with care, that meant he was inconveniencing him, he could take getting electrified a few times.

Perhaps time would tell.

  
  
  



End file.
